Ignition
by KeivRus
Summary: OneShot. "She always deserved protection, but it was never to this extent. He knew the firm line between her and Miki, but lately that thin line seemed to be oceans apart." Post-P3/Pre-P4Arena. Implied Shinjiro/Mitsuru


**A/N:** Long time no see. I know I'm sorry it's been a tough semester, but I'm back temporarily so I thought I would flush this out for practice end I ended up liking it quite a bit so I decided to publish it here! Cheers!

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Ignition

She wasn't always like this, he thought.

She always carried the world on her shoulders but before her shoulders were poised upright, confident and capable. Her reddened upper lip somehow curved in the most simpering way and her lashes spread to cascade a scattered shadow across her high cheekbones. Mitsuru was frustrating in the sense that she was raised on precision and efficiency. Every word she spoke was carefully and intentionally threaded together like poetry, and anything she chose to keep to herself was only revealed through that coquettishly ambiguous smirk.

"How is she?"

Turning to close the door behind him, he took the opportunity to bare his teeth before turning to meet her with his signature glower. Her eyes flitted up momentarily to properly greet him before returning to where her manicured index finger laid on the sentence she stopped to read. It was irritating how she knew exactly where he was without any assistance of the technology easily accessible to her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tch. He knew that would do little to stop her from continuing her interrogation, and yet like a scripted interaction he said his part.

Without missing a beat, Mitsuru read her line with a smooth nuance, "Considering the fact I have yet to hear of any disruptions in the hospital…Chidori must be warming up to Iori yet again despite her memory loss. I trust you sensed the same." Folding his arms across his chest, he knew he would lose the battle as soon as he walked into her office. Her eyes glossed over complex words and she still managed to throw in a coy reply with ease. Her lashes still fanned into a pleasant curl and that smile was still as simpering as before. But there was something different about her—something he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"He still cries every time she says something—babbling like an idiot about it being a miracle." He kept a firm gaze on her knowing she would be completely ignorant to his scrutinizing look when a contract was placed in front of her. Was it her face? It had changed from their SEES years, but it was nothing that would cause him to be so thrown off. Although he had to admit, seeing evidence of her exhaustion (especially under her eyes) made something stir uncomfortably under his skin, and for some reason he had to stop himself from wanting to brush it off as if it would magically disappear from his touch. She always deserved protection, but it was never to this extent. He knew the firm line between hers and Miki's, but lately that thin line seemed to be oceans apart. Her shoulders still confident and capable just seemed so small.

"Hah," A sharp exhale was her version of an amused laugh, and her lips curled upwards into a pleasant curve, "Perhaps we should learn a thing or two from Iori's…," She paused to find the perfect word—efficient as always—,"…Appreciation. After all, it's only been a few month since you yourself 'miraculously' awoke." Finally, she looked up from her paperwork to meet him with a smile. With a feigned fluid motion, his eyes separated from hers to focus on the ornate pattern of the sofa beside her desk. Did it always have gold threading?

He frowned, and this time he couldn't quite understand why. Everything about this room was stifling, uncomfortable, and unbearably warm. Without a thought, he recalled Junpei retelling the story of Mitsuru 'executing' them after their unsavory visit to the hot springs. Everything from the way Akihiko visibly shivered to the way Junpei gaped when Shinjiro seemed unaware of these so-called executions, made it clear that she never seemed to terrorize him the way she always did Akihiko.

Ice never suited her in his opinion. He was never a sentimental person, things were always the way they were and that was that. Who was he to mess with the way things occurred whether or not events went in his favor? Maybe it was because of his loss of Castor that caused his analysis of Personas, but with her deep red irises and the maroon flurry of perfectly pressed curls contrasted the element her Persona designed for her. Apart from such a childish explanation, Mitsuru was always as enticing as a brazened fire—something you knew you shouldn't touch but would always end up getting burned somehow. Ice was so lackluster and safe in comparison to the heir of the Kirijo Group. She had the ability to agitate, disturb, and empower like a licking burn. She was undeniably warm through her watchful, protective gaze—not that he was ever the one under her direct supervision. A certain boxer always seemed to be the target of that heated gaze.

"I don't need any of that," He quickly spat the words knowing he spent too long to reply with his foolish, unnecessary thoughts, "I don't believe in miracles or any of that shit." His words had a bitter coat around them. If miracles were the case then the room at the end of the third floor wouldn't be empty and locked. Waking up to that kind of news wasn't how he imagined starting anew, but seeing the way the others managed to pick up the pieces and move on at least solidified his desire to live on. It was probably the only reason why he ended up agreeing—although initially begrudgingly—to Mitsuru's offer to become the chef for important events for the Kirijo group.

She paused as though giving him time to recover from his thoughts before cautiously continuing, "Regardless, I am more than relieved by the progression of your health." Her words were carefully packaged—warm enough to show her sincerity but distant and vague enough to avoid the heated fire of certain stirring emotions neither of them ever displayed. Despite her blanket statement, that look she had—that look he still couldn't quite pinpoint—was enough to quiet him completely to a low simmer. The knowing glimmer in her eyes of unspoken words and formalities crackled like the burning of timber.

"And of course, I'm glad to have you by my side." She strategically turned to raise the cup of coffee he brewed for her earlier in the morning to put context to her words—or at least with the association they were both comfortable with: a simple cup of coffee.

Again he could feel his breath hitch, he hadn't had a sip of that coffee but why did it feel like _he_ was the one who burned his tongue? Placing his hands deep inside his maroon coat pocket, he gruffly replied, "I told you my stay here would only be temporary." He paused wondering why those words didn't have the stubborn resolve they had when he first signed her formal contract for hire. He paused before turning toward the door, "Did you want another cup before I leave?"

"No," She smiled again, "This was sufficient." This time, she strategically set the cup aside and folded her hands together so nothing could be incorrectly interpreted. And with just that simple phrase and her square, direct gaze up at him and _only_ him was enough to make him realize she wasn't quite talking about the coffee this time.

As always she was irritatingly efficient.


End file.
